Future Language of Slaves
by kiki399
Summary: A moment amidst the chaos of destruction.


Title: Future Language of Slaves

Rating: G

Spoilers: None at all.

Disclaimer: I don't own Lois or Clark or Hawksley's words.

Summary: A moment amidst the chaos of destruction.

Notes: Wow. My first attempt at writing in a long time and I came up with this…thing. No idea where this came from. Hope you like it anyway.

Clois fans – support OPB!

**_And what would we do in our last moments in time? Would we make love? Or would we break bread? Drink the blood that is shed, and pray to our god, whispering the future language of slaves -Hawksley Workman-_**

It begins on an innocuous Wednesday morning, with a virulent attack unlike any remembered in the living memory of history. Streaks of fire and metal burst upon the city like a thunderbolt, people scrambling with movements of vertiginous terror. The sun disappeared and it became night.

I listen to the surges and lulls in the noise from the mob in an attempt to orientate myself. I had thought this would be easier. I had convinced myself that knowing the date was for the best. Smart to be prevised in order to brace for the onslaught. Like the old Boy Scout adage: 'Always Be Prepared'.

But how do you prepare yourself to shut down – to feel nothing, especially when the last nine years have been spent breaking down all the walls and barriers that had served as my protective shell?

_"I need you to leave. Promise me you'll be on that flight. You won't stay here; you can't."_

My heart aches as if caught under a wreckage of brick, concrete and sand.

Time seems to be speeding up with every breath. They are coming.

_"You have to go, now."_

I can't breathe: every inhale and exhale leaves me dizzy, the dust from the debris are showing no sign of settling down. There will be no respite. Not this time.

_"This way. Hurry! It's time to go."_

I feel claustrophobic, trapped. I am aware of the panic lurking on the periphery of my consciousness, the tide of darkness and despair that threatens to wrench me under.

_"Goodbye…"_

But I do what needs to be done: I continue to move, to lead my group to safety.

_"Let's go. Everybody move. This way."_

I play the expected role of the fearless leader, the determined…the dead.

I have given up all that's important to me to do what is necessary. They'll be landing soon.

_"Follow me. Quickly! Time is running out."_

Men, women, and children, young and old follow. The sense of mass hysteria barely contained permeates the air, making it feel thick and heavy. Makes it difficult to move.

We finally break through. We've made it.

The platform is lined with planes and jets, shuttles and helicopter. People, thousands of tiny persons dwarfed by towering machinery scurry about, almost organized pandemonium if not for the frenzied shouts and cries, the mania of fear that pervades.

The earth trembles and quakes. The roar of the engines echo in my head, bouncing around my brain like the sharp crack of thunder. The planes and shuttles are taking off from every direction. I lead my group to one, to another, and another, until finally there is no longer the cacophony of shrieks and howls and mournful wails of grief and agony.

Just silence.

I see the Commander beckoning for me.

_"We have to go. Time is up."_

This is it.

The date had been set. Time had ticked down to its culmination. I had attempted to reconcile myself to this exact moment. It was time to shut down, to not think or feel. Mechanical steps: one step. Two. Three. Four. No… No.

My resolution has been crystallized and solidified. I voice it to the air, hoping it will carry in the wind.

_"Go on, get out of here! I'm Not Leaving."_

It feels good to yell; to admit out loud the truth that I tried to ignore and forget.

My choice had been made years ago: forged through friendship and love, moments in time, events, laughter, and tears.

And it was sealed in a church in front of not only a god, but more importantly, in front of the living: the living witnesses of my father, his mother, our families… but most importantly, in front of him.

I begin to run.

I run as fast as I can, darting through the ruins of historic buildings, and the fragile broken human bodies that litter the roads.

I am breathless again, but this time it isn't dread that closes my lungs and throat, but anticipation. It feels like hours, but I have made it. I recognize the lone-standing tree, the fallen golden globe that lies cracked like a ruptured egg. It's tempting to laugh at the irony.

_"Lois?"_

It was time to voice the truth.

_"I couldn't do it. I couldn't leave you, Clark."_

He smiles with sad eyes and reaches out for me. _"I know."_

The invasion has begun. The earth is cracked and crumbling. I don't run or weep or scream. I don't try to escape and await the outcome of this epic battle from afar.

Instead, I stand where I'm needed, where I am strongest: at the side of Superman.

We will witness the outcome, together.

the end.


End file.
